


you know it's obvious (i'm a sucker for you)

by liquidsky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: In which Steve's kind of weak and Scott has Bucky's terrible influence to thank.





	you know it's obvious (i'm a sucker for you)

**Author's Note:**

> listen. if you thought i'd ever be strong enough to resist naming a fic about blowjobs and mild hero worship after jonas brothers' _sucker_........ well, sorry to disappoint!

Steve's well aware of most people's reactions to him. Which is not to say that he's used to it in any way, shape or form – he has spent too long caught sideways in the world's worst case of ugly duckling syndrome to see any of the severe mouth-frothing directed his way as _routine_ , but. Well. 

The _Scott Lang Situation_ , as he's taken to calling it, is a whole other thing altogether. Scott keeps staring at him, all wide-eyed and _way_ too perpetually awestruck to achieve anything that could even be in the _same vicinity_ as _casual_ , and Steve keeps avoiding his gaze and trying to act as though he hasn't noticed it, but things might be getting out of hand. 

For one, everybody knows. And he means _everybody_ – he hasn't looked Tony in the eye in over a week, and Bucky, who Steve usually thinks of as his _life partner_ , keeps being an absolute fucking dickhead about it, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking at him whenever Scott so much as glances in Steve's direction. He's not even going to mention Sam (the memory of Sam's infuriating _laughing fit_ the last time Scott stumbled over his words at the sight of Steve still haunts his dreams, thank you very much.) 

Secondly, there's nothing he can do about it. He can't exactly tell Scott to stop looking at him (maybe he wouldn't even if he could) and it doesn't seem like Scott is going to by his own volition. 

It all comes to a grinding halt on a sunny Tuesday in the middle of summer. Steve's spent the better part of the day in his smallest swim shorts (bright pink ones, _tiny_ , that Tony had gotten him as a mock Christmas gift fully intending to have him as the butt of some prude joke, to which Steve had very pointedly refused to give in. So he wears the shorts, often, if only so he can win some ground in the weird pissing contest he and Tony are currently engaged in.) Outside, Bucky and Sam are sprawled over the deck chairs, beers in hand, bickering about something Steve can't be bothered trying to follow. He's thirsty, and starting to feel a tad too warm, so he abandons them in favor of hiding in the kitchen, where there's water and, most importantly, air conditioning. 

Scott finds him there. Well, more accurately, Scott finds Steve bent over, ass up, struggling to reach for the last can of peach juice that Steve knows for a fact Tony's hidden in the hopes that no one would drink it but him. _Steve,_ when he turns around in a haste and nearly brain himself on one of the fridge shelves, finds Scott on the floor, trying to sit up and clutching his elbows at the same time. 

"Are you okay?" He asks, mostly because Scott doesn't look okay. He's flushed, a bright red hue over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and he won't stop rubbing his elbows. 

"Sure." Scott says, sounding a lot croaky and very out of breath, so Steve raises his eyebrows. Scott sighs. "I slipped." 

Steve walks around the counter to give him a hand, which Scott accepts, looking everywhere but at Steve. Steve feels himself starting to blush – of course this would be it, Jesus Christ. 

Scott doesn't let go of his hand right away, which is both mortifying and slightly endearing (a thought that is wholly fucking horrible, Steve wants to pinch the bridge of his nose and maybe move out of the country or something). He glances down at their joined hands instead, just long enough for Scott to get the message. He flushes even brighter as he realizes, dropping Steve's hand like it's suddenly spurted thorns. 

Steve doesn't take it personally. 

"I should–" Scott starts, just as Steve opens his mouth to ask whether he needs something.

Unlike a few other Avengers, Scott doesn't live in the house – Wanda and Nat do, along with Steve, Sam, Bucky, and, sometimes, Thor. It's a good system, as far as housing goes. 

"Did you need something?" Steve asks anyway.

Scott looks up from where his eyes had fallen to the Steve's thighs. "Sorry–I, uh–what?" 

Steve sighs. "Did you need something?" 

"No, I–" Scott says. He stutters around the words twice before clearing his throat. "I was gonna stay here tonight." 

"Oh." Says Steve. "Of course! The bedroom's set up, I don't know if you–"

Scott nods. "I have, yeah. I'll just–shower." 

"Great!" Steve says, too loud. He winces internally. "We're outside by the pool if you want to come join us." 

"Sure, yeah." Scott agrees. "Thanks."

Steve leaves him to it. He feels too warm despite the cold coming from the air conditioner, too awkward in his own body. He leaves the peach juice on the counter before making his way outside, looking over his shoulder even though he knows that Scott is long gone from the kitchen. 

"Scott's here." He tells Bucky and Sam, plopping down to lay on the recliner next to theirs. They exchange a look, and Steve groans. 

"As your friend," Bucky starts. " _Best_ friend. I gotta tell you–"

"–I'd rather you didn't–" 

"You need to fuck him." He finishes. 

Steve stares at him. "I'm not–what the fuck. I'm not _sleeping with Scott_."

"Why not?" Bucky asks, voice sounding weirdly like he thinks that's an actual alternative in Steve's life. 

"Because it's _Scott._ " 

"He's kind of hot." Sam comments, no doubt giving Steve a look from under his sunglasses. "You could do worse."

"Gee, thanks." Steve says. "And I know he's hot, that's not the point."

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "What _is_ the point?" 

"The point," Steve whispers furiously, "Is that he's got his _thing,_ you know, he's kind of–"

"Obsessed with you." Sam finishes. 

Steve sighs. "I shouldn't encourage him." 

"I doubt it's gonna make a difference." Says Bucky, which is both completely true and kind of unfair. "You can't just stay a virgin forever."

Sam snorts. "Good point." 

" _Excuse_ me." Steve tells them. "Haven't I fucked both of you before?"

"We don't count." Bucky says. "It's like–we're, you know."

Steve scoffs. "You absolutely fucking count."

"I mean–" Sam starts.

"–You count!" 

" _Fine._ " Bucky concedes. "But you should still fuck Scott." 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving out the most long suffering sigh possible. 

Sam reaches over to pat him on the leg. "Bucky's got a point." 

"You can never fucking agree on anything." Steve complains. "But you can agree on _this_?" 

"Of all things." Bucky points out. "And it'll be good for you. Give some closure to the weird tension you've got going." 

Steve narrows his eyes. "There's no tension."

"There's tension." Sam tells him, very seriously. "Bucky's–"

"Don't finish that sentence." Steve warns, so Sam just shrugs instead of speaking.

Bucky sighs. "Steve–"

"Shut up." Says Steve. "I'm not–it's not happening." 

"It should happen." Bucky insists.

Steve rolls his eyes at him. "It's not happening." 

– 

It's happening. Scott's staring at him again, or maybe it's just that he never _stopped_ , ever since Steve came downstairs in his summer pajamas a few minutes earlier to offer him some of the leftover takeout Buck and Sam had decided on having for dinner. It's why he calls it a _situation_ – Steve can very clearly feel the skin of his arms prickle as Scott's eyes travel up and down from his shoulders to his wrists, seemingly caught in a haze that he can't drag himself out of. 

Steve glances at him from the corner of his eyes – the contemplative look in his face makes Steve think of Bucky, wondering what he'd say if he saw it. Which. He _knows_ what Bucky would say. 

Steve sighs. "This is a nice movie." 

Scott very obviously startles, looking up at Steve's face like he wasn't even aware that Steve was there. 

"Uh, what?" He asks. "Sorry, I wasn't–"

Steve watches him for a minute. He figures that, for the first time since the very beginning of what he's come to calling the _Scott Lang Situation_ , he's got two options: tell Scott to quit it or (to borrow Sam's frequently used and entirely awful phrasing) _hit_ it.

He offers Scott a small grin. "Yeah, I noticed."

"You–" Scott splutters. "I wasn't–That's not. I mean, I _was_ but I didn't mean to, uh. Make you uncomfortable. Sorry–"

"It's fine." Steve interrupts, because he's officially made up his mind. 

He can't believe he's about to follow Bucky's stupid fucking advice on this, but. He looks at Scott, takes in the charming line of his nose and the kindness in his eyes. He's probably made worse decisions. 

"I don't mind it." Steve assures him. He cringes internally at what he's about to say. "You could–touch, if you wanted to." 

"I–Really?" Scott asks. He leans subtly into Steve's space as he says it, looking for all the world like he can't believe what he's just heard.

Steve, because he's never once half-assed anything in his life, meets Scott halfway, flexing his arm as he feels Scott's fingers settle on his skin. It reminds him of Peggy, of her first reaction to the effects of the serum. Scott sighs, loud and dreamy enough that Steve snorts out a small laugh, feeling too warm. 

Scott curves his hand around Steve's arms, his palms soft as they drag upwards. He squeezes Steve's biceps once, a curious little twist to his mouth making him seem very entranced. It's sweet – it makes Steve want to reach out and touch him too, as unexpected as it is. Steve tries to come up with the list of what he knows about him, finds only things that make the press of his hand to Steve's shoulder all the nicer. Scott's hands are steady, firm, just as reliable as he is himself, so Steve inches his face toward him, their foreheads touching briefly until Scott looks up at Steve and their noses bump softly against one another.

Scott looks startled, eyes widening, and Steve bridges the gap between them before he can say anything else. 

His lips are soft, Steve finds, shuffling closer to Scott on the couch, his own hands travelling down to cling to Scott's arms as he deepens the kiss. The easy pressure of Scott's body against his as he crowds even closer makes Steve's breath catch slightly, the familiar heat of pleasure spreading through his limbs as Scott pulls away to latch his lips to Steve's throat. His lips drag slowly on Steve's skin, warm and soft and exploring, something curious in the way he bites the spot where Steve's neck meets his shoulder. 

Steve groans, the hoarseness in his voice surprising himself. Scott glances up at him, breathless and flushed as he offers Steve a grin too full of mirth to mean anything good. 

He slides to the floor in a move that is not at all smooth but all the more charming for it, pushing Steve's thighs open with no hesitation. Steve looks up at the ceiling to try and catch his breath. It doesn't quite come as easily as he'd hoped. 

Scott runs both hands up Steve's thighs. "Is this okay?"

Steve feels himself blush as he nods at Scott, lifting his hips up so Scott can pull his pajama pants down. The look Scott gives him makes sparks catch fire inside Steve, renders him hazy and nearly speechless. He's quick with his hands, which is something Steve maybe should've noticed about him but somehow never had, and it gets to him now, surprising and sweet. He chokes around a groan, breath caught in his throat as Scott takes him into his mouth. 

His mind flashes to Bucky (and the knowing grin he's sure to give Steve when he tells him about it) before falling back to the feeling of Scott's lips around him, too good for him to resist threading his fingers through Scott's hair. 

Scott hums, the vibration making Steve's toes curl and his stomach drop dangerously. He looks blissful when Steve peers down at him, eyes closed and a crease to his forehead in a way that has him looking intense and reverent, so Steve presses his hands to the side of his cheek, runs a finger softly down Scott's jaw. 

The sharp want in Scott's eyes is enough to have Steve panting, his entire body tensing in the best way possible. 

"Scott–" he warns, and Scott pulls away from him in the second between Steve's words and the quiet whine that escapes his throat as he comes. 

Scott, when Steve blinks his eyes open, is sitting back on his heels and wiping his face with the most overwhelmed look anyone's ever mustered. He–well. Steve winces, though he's not quite sure he can really feel bad about it. 

"Uh," Steve starts, watching as Scott wipes his hand on his pants. "Sorry–I–"

Scott gives him a small smile. "Don't worry about it. It was, uh–"

"You should–c'mere." Steve tells him, leaning into Scott's space. 

He frowns when Scott shifts back, a sheepish curve to his shoulders. "Don't you want to–"

"That ship's kind of sailed already." Scott says, and Steve is confused for the half minute that it takes Scott to gesture to his own lap. 

Steve's eyebrows fly up. " _Oh_ , you–"

"–Yep." Says Scott. 

Try as Steve might, he doesn't quite manage to stop his lips from twitching, which Scott notices immediately, shoving at Steve's legs with an eye roll. 

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up." 

–

"You were right." Steve tells Bucky the next morning, pausing to stand next to him by the kitchen counter. 

Bucky hands him a mug, "Told you so."

**Author's Note:**

> here's me... good of heart... dumb of ass... 
> 
> (this is unbeta'd, by the way, so any and all mistakes are my own!)


End file.
